


Tense

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5375408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Please open your mouth wider, Bokuto-san,' Akaashi says calmly. 'You’re biting me.'" Akaashi has beautiful hands and Bokuto is distractable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tense

“Please open your mouth wider, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says calmly. “You’re biting me.”

Bokuto flinches, opens his mouth obediently and instantly wider. Akaashi’s hold on his hair tugs to urge his head farther back and Bokuto angles his chin up, parts his lips wide to make an offering of his mouth for Akaashi’s fingers. Akaashi shifts his hand, moves his wrist, and when he slides his fingers forward they drag past Bokuto’s lips to press weight down against the slick of his tongue.

“Your mouth is warm,” he says, and Bokuto can’t tell if that’s intended as a compliment or just an observation and is too distracted by the friction of Akaashi’s fingers on his tongue to make a guess either way. He closes his lips gently on the other’s hand, sucks a gentle drag of pressure across warm skin; Akaashi’s fingers skim against the roof of his mouth and Bokuto’s eyelashes flutter shut, his vision going hazy with the distraction of the fingers in his mouth.

“Bokuto-san.” Another tug at his hair, fingers sliding through the strands with enough force to catch Bokuto’s attention but without quite crossing over into pain. “Keep your eyes open as I requested.”

Bokuto groans around Akaashi’s fingers, drags the impossible weight of his eyelids open again. Akaashi is watching him, his lashes dark over the shadow of his eyes as he looks down from his advantage of standing height on Bokuto kneeling in front of him. Bokuto whimpers, shifts his knees wider like the angle will give him relief for the heat swelling into his cock, but Akaashi doesn’t blink, doesn’t even let his gaze drift down to the fabric stretching telltale taut at the front of Bokuto’s shorts.

“That’s better,” he says, his words clean and simple on sincerity. “Thank you, Bokuto-san.” His fingers in Bokuto’s hair spread wider, his palm cupping the back of the other’s head; when his fingertips press to scalp Bokuto can feel electricity firing all down his spine, can taste the purr of satisfaction on the back of his tongue as he leans in closer to take Akaashi’s fingers farther into his mouth.

“Are you sure?” Akaashi asks, the words as level as if he were truly as disinterested as he appears. Bokuto would believe it, too, if it weren’t for the fingers digging in against his hair, the pressure spread wide to catch the whole back of his head in Akaashi’s steady hand. “If I go any farther you’ll choke.”

Bokuto groans, flutters his eyelashes into understanding since coherency fractures and melts against the obstruction of Akaashi’s fingers. His mouth is watering, the friction of Akaashi’s fingers good but not enough, and when he sucks hard it’s encouragement, wordless pleading for more, farther, for the dip of Akaashi’s fingers past the back of his tongue and into his throat. Akaashi’s lashes flutter -- black on shadow, endless and unreadable -- and then he takes a breath, the sound as much agreement as the way he braces Bokuto’s head and slides his fingers farther into the other’s mouth. Bokuto whines wordless heat, sucks hard at Akaashi’s skin, and he can taste salt, dust and sweat caught in the creases of Akaashi’s fingers to melt in his mouth, to leave only the taste of Akaashi himself to slick hot over Bokuto’s tongue as he thrusts his fingers far back. Bokuto swallows, convulsive and expectant, and then Akaashi’s fingertips slide past the back of his mouth. His throat works, reflexive motion threatening his composure, but Bokuto chokes it back, tips his head farther back and swallows against instinct to draw Akaashi’s fingers farther. Akaashi takes a breath, a careful, deliberate sound, and then his touch slides farther still, dipping an inch into Bokuto’s throat to threaten the other’s breathing. Bokuto groans again, the sound stalling at the barrier of Akaashi’s fingers; he can feel every beat of his heart flushing his cock harder at the front of his shorts. Akaashi is looking down at him, Akaashi’s fingers are in his hair and down his throat and Bokuto’s eyes are shutting, his hands are coming out for Akaashi’s hip, wrist, reaching for touchpoints to urge the other closer, to span the gap of distance between them and bring all Akaashi’s soft skin in range of his lips.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says over him, and Bokuto tenses to the chastising edge on his name even before Akaashi’s hand tightens in his hair to hold him steady while the other draws his fingers back. Bokuto moans at the loss, a desperate noise that rumbles itself to a carrying volume in his chest, and barely gets his lips tight to suck Akaashi’s fingers dry before the other pulls his hand free of Bokuto’s mouth. “I asked you to keep your eyes open.”

“Akaashi,” Bokuto grates, hearing the sound of Akaashi’s fingerprints on his voice. “More.”

“Open your eyes,” Akaashi tells him, and Bokuto does, dragging his eyelids open again and blinking hard at the shadow Akaashi is casting over him. “Please pay attention to what I asked of you.”

“Yes,” Bokuto says, agreement coming easy on the heat in his veins. “Sorry, Akaashi.”

“Just don’t let it happen again,” Akaashi says, steady and level on the words. His hold on Bokuto’s hair eases, his fingers sliding into gentle stroking through the pale strands instead; when he brings his other hand back out it’s to touch the very tips of his fingers to Bokuto’s lips, to drag friction across the sensitive skin while Bokuto’s heart thuds in his chest, while his eyelashes flutter him towards dangerous distraction. “Do you understand, Bokuto-san?”

“Yes,” Bokuto says, and opens his eyes wide to stare hard at Akaashi standing over him. When he talks Akaashi’s fingers slide at his lips to drag out the shape of unseen art across his mouth. “I understand, Akaashi.”

“Good.” Akaashi’s hand shifts, his fingers sliding back into Bokuto’s mouth; he’s flexing them, this time, pressing weight down across Bokuto’s tongue as he braces his thumb against the other’s chin. Bokuto keeps his mouth wide, keeps his teeth well clear of Akaashi’s knuckles, but he shifts his tongue to the weight, licks up hard to taste the gap between Akaashi’s index and middle fingers. Akaashi exhales over him, an almost-silent sigh into the air, and dips his fingers in harder, doesn’t pull away even when Bokuto closes a hand on his hip. He’s sucking against Akaashi’s fingers, licking against the calluses from practice and the salt of exertion clinging to the other’s skin, and Akaashi lets him, doesn’t draw away even when Bokuto hitches a knee forward and rocks his weight up over his knees so he can lean in closer to Akaashi’s statue-certain stance.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto moans, or tries to moan, except that it comes out hot and garbled against Akaashi’s fingers. He thinks the fluttering heat of his gaze conveys the point, though, or maybe Akaashi can just guess from the incoherence on his tongue, because Akaashi’s lashes shift again, his mouth tips into a brief shudder of reaction, and when Bokuto’s fingers skim against the other’s hip just over the line of his shorts Akaashi’s weight arches forward, his body rocking closer to Bokuto’s touch even if his breathing is still nearly silent. He doesn’t slide his fingers away, doesn’t take a step back; he just curls in closer, his shoulders hunching over Bokuto’s head, and doesn’t move while the other’s fingers find the drawstring at the waist of his shorts and tug to unfasten the minimal knot set into it. The ties come free, the fabric goes loose, and Bokuto’s eyelashes flutter, threaten darkness to his vision again as Akaashi’s fingers drag over his tongue, as his own fingers drag over the sharp angle of Akaashi’s hip.

“Slowly,” Akaashi warns, permission implicit in the warning itself, and Bokuto takes a breath, tries to remember how to go slow, how to be careful when Akaashi’s skin is smouldering under his fingers and all he can taste is heat. He blinks hard once, twice, and when he moves it  _is_  careful, a deliberate drag of his fingers to ease the elastic at the waistband of Akaashi’s shorts down by an inch, another, the motion so tantalizingly slow as to draw all Bokuto’s attention taut and straining. The fabric slides down, Akaashi’s fingers tense on his tongue, and then Bokuto tugs the clothing free of the flush of Akaashi’s cock and there’s a flutter of motion in his mouth, Akaashi’s touch flexing into a shudder of reaction as Bokuto’s fingers drag at his clothing. Bokuto breathes in through his nose, hard, tightens his lips to suck Akaashi’s fingers further into his mouth because he doesn’t know what he’ll say, otherwise, isn’t sure what kind of too-honest compliment would push itself up his throat to take form in the heated air between them. Akaashi is beautiful, as Akaashi is always beautiful, the tilt of his hip bracing his weight is as lovely as the flushed color of his cock, the angle of his wrist as stunning as the tremor of tension Bokuto can see flexing against the inside of Akaashi’s thighs to spell out all the want that Akaashi will never give voice to himself.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says again, appreciation turning itself to vibration in his throat, and Akaashi draws his fingers free all at once to leave Bokuto’s mouth empty again. Bokuto moves as fast as Akaashi does, as if he’s acting on an unstated signal to come closer, and when he parts his lips it’s to let Akaashi’s cock slide hot over his tongue rather than to give voice to all those incoherent words of affection that are threatening his mouth. Akaashi jerks over him, his shoulders curling in to cast Bokuto into shadow for a moment, and Bokuto shuts his eyes to the first surge of salt on his tongue, to the bitter heat of Akaashi’s cock slipping back to fill his mouth and mark his lips.

Fingers catch Bokuto’s hair, form into double fists to draw him back, to urge him away. “Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, his voice dipping towards a barely audible tremor. “ _Look_  at me.” Bokuto whimpers, protest made irrelevant by the heat filling his mouth, but Akaashi’s hands tug at his hair and he draws back to gasp an inhale, tilts his head up to meet Akaashi’s gaze. The other’s eyes are dark, drawn unusually wide on heat and friction; his mouth is open too, his lips barely parted on the rhythm of his breathing. There’s a suggestion of a flush on his cheekbones, heat finally making its mark against his skin, and Bokuto can feel all his body ache with want, can feel his mouth come open in a motion as much instinct as deliberate suggestion. Akaashi’s eyelashes dip, flutter over the infinity of his eyes, and then his fingers tighten, brace into a fist of Bokuto’s hair to keep his head back.

“Good,” he says, his voice dropping an octave, going dark and smoky like it sometimes does in the middle of a game, hitting the resonance that goes through Bokuto’s veins like a command, like magnetism forcing him to absolute obedience. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Yes,” Bokuto manages, his throat dry, his heart frantic, and opens his mouth wider, makes his lips into the shape of suggestion. Akaashi blinks again, takes a breath Bokuto can see shift in his shoulders, and then he rocks his weight forward in a careful, deliberate motion, curving his spine and rolling his hips to fit his cock past the outline of Bokuto’s mouth. He tastes like shadow, bitter and salt on Bokuto’s tongue, and Bokuto groans with it, his whole body trembling electric with the taste as heat spreads to take ownership of his mouth. Akaashi is watching him, the unreadable shadows in his eyes locked with Bokuto’s stare, and Bokuto spreads his fingers wide on Akaashi’s hips, curves the pressure of his fingers into a draw, a tug to urge Akaashi closer, farther, deeper, to bring Bokuto’s lips flush with the trembling heat of his hips. Akaashi exhales hard enough that Bokuto can hear the breath, and Bokuto keeps his eyes open as he starts to move, his hands bracing Akaashi forward in that long, elegant curve of his spine as Bokuto’s lips slide friction across his cock. Akaashi’s hands are still in Bokuto’s hair, tense on fistfuls of the strands, but it’s Bokuto setting the rhythm, it’s the slide of Bokuto’s mouth that draws Akaashi hotter and heavier against the drag of his tongue. Bokuto can taste salt far back in his mouth, bitter spreading and clinging to his throat, and it’s like praise, silent encouragement as Akaashi’s cock goes hotter against his lips. Akaashi is breathing harder -- Bokuto can hear his every inhale, now -- and his eyelashes are fluttering, his chin dipping down like he’s having trouble keeping his head upright. His legs tremble under Bokuto’s hold, his body thrumming with the strain of the angle, with the heat Bokuto can taste on his tongue, and then Bokuto sucks hard against Akaashi’s length and Akaashi groans, a low sound of surrender on his tongue as his hips rock forward a half-inch and he spills himself into orgasm in Bokuto’s mouth. Bokuto moans appreciation, incoherent and hot and satisfied, swallowing the salt down as fast as Akaashi gives it to him, and he keeps his eyes open, keeps staring at Akaashi’s face as composure disintegrates into open-mouthed pleasure, as the attention in his considering eyes fades to unfocused heat, each tremor of orgasm washing his expression slack and languid all over again. Bokuto can’t breathe for the warmth in his chest, the affection hot and desperate around his heart, and he’s still thrumming with it when Akaashi pulls away, easing himself free of the other boy’s mouth with a return of his usual careful grace.

“ _Akaashi_ ,” Bokuto breathes, hearing the familiar vowels go rough with heat in the back of his throat. Akaashi shudders another exhale, his eyelashes fluttering for a moment, and Bokuto’s heart aches as if Akaashi’s fingers are tight around it. “Akaashi.”

“Yes,” Akaashi says, agreement to a question Bokuto didn’t ask, submission to a request never voiced. His fingers ease on Bokuto’s hair, his breathing steadies with the movement of a blink, and when he lets his hold on the other go it’s so he can slide his shorts back over his hips as he pulls himself back to complete composure for a moment. Bokuto doesn’t protest, doesn’t complain, because no sooner is Akaashi back in order than his hand is on Bokuto’s shoulder, his fingers bracing his weight as he moves to drop to a knee, to level himself to Bokuto’s position.

“Come here, Bokuto-san” and Bokuto is moving before Akaashi can get a hand up into his hair, is surging forward with all the frantic desperation Akaashi’s composure doesn’t allow for. He gets a hand at Akaashi’s hip again, closes his fingers on the sharp line of bone under the cover of the other’s clothes, and braces himself at that point as he rocks in closer to catch the soft of Akaashi’s mouth with his own. Akaashi shuts his eyes to the kiss, his lashes falling feather-dark at his cheeks, and Bokuto does too, letting his attention center instead on the way Akaashi’s mouth fits to his, on the way Akaashi tastes when he parts his lips in a silent offering and Bokuto licks into the heat of his mouth. Akaashi’s fingers are in his hair, Akaashi’s hand is at his hip, and then there’s the relief of pressure grinding against Bokuto’s cock and he groans without pulling away, lets the sound muffle itself against the shadow of Akaashi’s lips instead of losing the heat of the contact.

“Bokuto--” Akaashi says, or tries to say, but Bokuto isn’t letting him go, he’s imitating Akaashi’s example and winding his fingers into the dark texture of the other’s hair to hold him closer. It’s more than coherency is worth, to let him go, and Akaashi doesn’t protest; he lets Bokuto push in nearer, lets Bokuto suck the taste of him off the curve of his lower lip, and when he moves it’s only to fit his hand under the elastic of the other’s waistband and draw his fingers over the trembling flat of Bokuto’s stomach. Bokuto’s breathing catches, even his gasp of reaction stilled by expectation, and Akaashi’s hand closes around him, his fingers fitting into place as surely as if they’ve always belonged flush against Bokuto’s skin. Bokuto groans, a choked-off “ _Akaashi_ ” hot on his tongue, and Akaashi exhales against his mouth and strokes up over him. The friction purrs up Bokuto’s spine, shudders electric through his thoughts, and when he opens his mouth it’s to groan again, vocal backdrop for the way his grip tightens in Akaashi’s hair and his hips buck up hard into the other’s hand. Akaashi’s hold at his hip tightens, his fingers locking the other in place, but Bokuto is still trying to rock up, unable to stop the instinctive thrusts against Akaashi’s steady grip.

“Hold still,” Akaashi says, his voice as even and as steady as if he’s speaking about a game and not about Bokuto trying to fuck into the resistance of his hand.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto whines, knowing he sounds petulant and not able to stop the catch of protest on his tongue. “ _More_.”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighs, but he’s leaning closer in spite of the protest on his lips, catching Bokuto’s mouth with his and stifling the other’s words with the pressure. His lips are deceptively soft for how hard he’s pressing; Bokuto barely has his mouth open to lick against the heat of Akaashi’s tongue before he’s being forced back to topple to the floor. He keeps his hold on the other’s hair, drags Akaashi down with him as he goes, and then Akaashi is pressed against him, the weight of his body pinning Bokuto temporarily to the floor. Bokuto growls satisfaction into Akaashi’s mouth, arches up off the floor to press closer to the other’s body, and Akaashi huffs over his lips for a rush of heat before he pulls back and away to come up on his knees. Bokuto whimpers, clutches at Akaashi’s shirt to tug protest to this loss, but Akaashi is dragging at the edge of Bokuto’s shorts and that is promising enough that Bokuto doesn’t put words to his complaint. Akaashi looks down, watching what he’s doing as he draws the other’s shorts off his hips and to his knees, and Bokuto stares at him unseen, watching the crescents of shadow Akaashi’s eyelashes cast over his cheeks.

“Open your mouth,” Akaashi says without looking up. Bokuto blinks, caught off-guard by the sudden command, and Akaashi does look back up then, fixes Bokuto in place with the dark of his eyes as he reaches up with his free hand. Bokuto opens his mouth then, the wider to make up for his hesitation, and Akaashi’s fingers slide past his lips to press against his tongue.

“Suck on them, please,” he says, and then he draws up over Bokuto’s cock again, dragging a groan out of the other’s chest before he knows what’s happening. Bokuto’s eyes shut, his back arches, but he’s closing his lips obediently, sucking wet over Akaashi’s skin as the friction of the other’s movement sparks heat all up his spine. He’s trembling with the sensation, his thighs shaking as he arches involuntarily off the floor, and then Akaashi slides his fingers free, and when he drops his hand to fit to the space between Bokuto’s thighs Bokuto realizes what he intends.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, his hips dropping to the floor and his knees angling wider. “ _Akaashi_.”

“I need you to relax, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi tells him, as if Bokuto could possibly relax with Akaashi’s fingers dragging over his cock and the wet slick of the other’s touch sliding over his skin. “Please tell me if I hurt you.”

“Please,” Bokuto says, and his legs are shaking, his whole body is trembling with anticipation. “ _Please_.”

Akaashi doesn’t answer aloud. He’s looking down again, watching his touch slide across Bokuto’s skin; Bokuto can see the pace of his breathing against the part of his lips, can see concentration tense at the corners of his eyes. There’s contact, a moment of pressure; and then he’s pushing into Bokuto, the force of his touch stretching the other around him, and Bokuto is groaning and arching again, his whole body thrumming into heat at the point of connection.

“ _Akaashi_ ,” he’s saying, and “Relax,” Akaashi is telling him, but Bokuto can’t relax, he can’t breathe, and Akaashi’s touch is dipping deeper into him, pushing him open and dragging almost too-much-sensation with just the minimal lubrication of Bokuto’s saliva clinging to his skin. Bokuto’s gasping for air, every exhale coming out raw on a groan, and Akaashi is still stroking over him, urging the tension along his spine tighter with every motion of his fingers. He’s thrusting deeper, he’s moving faster, and then Akaashi shifts his hand and presses inside Bokuto and Bokuto jerks and shouts and comes in sticky stripes over his stomach and the bottom edge of his shirt. Akaashi is still pressing against him, holding the point of pressure as Bokuto’s cock twitches in his hold, and Bokuto keeps coming, each jolt of pleasure wringing another shudder of tension from his body. By the time it’s over he’s quivering boneless against the floor, shaky and overheated and flushed with sensation, until even Akaashi easing out of him isn’t enough to get more than one long tremor of reaction from his body.

“Are you alright, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, while Bokuto is still staring at the ceiling and blinking heat haze from his vision.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says instead of answering, his voice slurring the other’s name into pleasure. Akaashi sighs and Bokuto shifts, pushes up onto his elbow so he can reach out to fist Akaashi’s shirt. Akaashi is watching him, his eyes dark under the dip of his lashes and his mouth a soft line; Bokuto’s attention clings to the damp of his lips, stays there as he pushes himself upright and tugs Akaashi in closer to him. Akaashi sighs as Bokuto approaches, lifts a hand to brush against the tangle of the other’s hair; his fingers are gentle, his movement deliberate.

“ _Are_  you alright?” he asks again, his head tilting to match Bokuto’s as the other draws closer.

Bokuto can feel the grin that catches his lips, that drags the corner of his mouth lopsided with delight. It’s hard not to smile, with Akaashi so close and his eyes so dark.

“Yeah,” he says, and tugs against the front of Akaashi’s shirt. “Kiss me, Akaashi.”

Akaashi isn’t smiling when their mouths come together, but Bokuto can still feel the tension of affection against his lips.


End file.
